


asagao

by nagia



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [3]
Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: F/M, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, No penetration, specifically fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/pseuds/nagia
Summary: Sometimes ninjas have morning sex.  PWP.





	asagao

**Author's Note:**

> Guess I'm not dead, after all. Title comes from the Japanese for 'morning glory.' Nebulously in the 'Ghosts That We Knew'/"Flicker" universe, but god knows when, since these idiots are _currently at hand-holding_ over in "Flicker From View."

Sunlight creeps in through the shutters, staining the room the blues and grays and pinks typical of the hour of the rabbit, and then finally gold. Aoshi's awake for all of it — he rarely sleeps as late as dawn — but their bed is much warmer than the air outside it, and neither he nor Misao have anywhere urgent to be today. So instead he lies with Misao half trapped beneath him and watches the shadows and colors creep across the room, listening to the sounds of a well-liked ryokan slowly waking up.

He'd gone to sleep facing the door, with her at his back. And yet here they are again; he's facing the window, now. He doesn't even recall moving, though he thinks he might have woken in the night. Long enough to listen to Misao shift and sigh at the change.

He hears the difference in her heartbeat when she wakes. Just a quick, skipped beat and then it's slow and even again as she recognizes him. Recognizes safety.

"Ohayou-san," she says, sleepily, as if by rote. She slides one hand along the inside of the arm that cages her in. When her fingertips — slender points of heat — reach his wrist, he opens his hand.

He doesn't have to see Misao's face to know she smiles. She slides her hand into his, her fingers curling so she can thread them into the gaps between his own. When she squeezes, he squeezes back, and she lets out a little laugh.

Her eyes are bright when she looks over her shoulder at him, and her heartbeat quickens when he buries his nose in the crook of her neck. He exhales — one of her feet spasms, sliding against his calf, even as she laughs again, squirming — and then presses his mouth against the delicate skin of her throat.

She shifts, settling against him, and Aoshi turns more fully onto his side. She half-rises, lifting her shoulder off the ground, and he slides his other arm beneath her. He splays his right hand on her stomach, then pulls her even closer against him.

Rather than protest, Misao wiggles, nearly causing him to lose his train of thought. But he remembers what he had begun, and lets his hand trail down her stomach. He moves slightly sideways to pass his palm over her thigh, and she gives him a breathless little laugh, parting her legs enough to welcome his hand between them.

He touches her first with his thumb, pressing it to her, working slow circles around her clit. He keeps the pressure there gentle, more hinting than insistent.

Aoshi has barely been teasing her for a minute or two before Misao begins to writhe. Some of it's an attempt to distract him, to tease him the way he does her, but even more of it is impatience.

She's never seen much purpose in self-denial. Here, in their bed, he sees no reason not to indulge her.

"How many?" He asks the question against her cheek, making sure to breathe lightly on her ear.

She pretends to think about this, before she says, "Hm, all of them."

Had it been a serious question, he would ask again. But it hadn't been. They know each other too well, have made too thorough a study of each other, not to know what they like.

He works first his index finger into her, waiting for her to relax around him. After a few moments, she does so with a pleased sigh, one of her bare feet skating along his leg. He presses a second finger within, and then a third, and she arches first into it and then away. Chasing and then darting away from the sensation.

Aoshi keeps his thumb moving, crooking first one finger and then another inside her.

Her whole body tenses, clenching around him. Her spine is stiff, other hand fisted; the fingers threaded in his own spasm, hand squeezing his. He squeezes back, breathing a little heavily at the way her heart has sped up for him, at how slick and warm she is.

She tenses again, this time, as if the pleasure he'd been building has spiraled beyond her control. She's quiet as she comes undone, her breath hitching high in her throat, but her heartbeat is loud.

He drops his head forward so he can rest his cheek against her hair. It tickles, but it's soft, and with so much of her warm skin pressed against him, he could spend himself like this. He's already so hard he almost aches with it.

Aoshi rolls away just enough that he can collapse onto his back, allowing himself to pant in earnest now. It's a fine way to start a morning.

Misao trails her fingertips along his bicep. She smiles when he looks over at her, and her gaze dips.

"Please," he says, hoarse.

Her smile widens.


End file.
